


Not So Bad

by hazelNuts



Series: Sterek Summer Bingo [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Child Jackson, Fluff, M/M, POV Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 19:35:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7401058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelNuts/pseuds/hazelNuts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek coaches Little League, and sometimes, in the heat of the game, accidents happen.</p><p>
  <i>Derek smiles as one of his kids touches home base and receives high-fives from the rest of the team. This is one of his favourite parts of coaching Little League: the excitement when a game goes their way. Those little faces light up with a joy that only kids seem to be able to feel. </i>
  <br/>
  <i>One of his favourite things about this team in particular is in the stands, watching the game right now: Stiles Stilinski.</i>
</p><p>For SWN Summer Bingo prompt: Baseball</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not So Bad

**Author's Note:**

> If you think I forgot any tags, please let me know in the comments.

Derek smiles as one of his kids touches home base and receives high-fives from the rest of the team. This is one of his favourite parts of coaching Little League: the excitement when a game goes their way. Those little faces light up with a joy that only kids seem to be able to feel.

One of his favourite things about this team in particular is in the stands, watching the game right now: Stiles Stilinski, an Emergency Room doctor at Beacon Hills memorial, with golden brown eyes and pale skin he never protects with sunscreen, and Jackson’s dad. Stiles always shows up with a shirt with Jackson’s name and number on it. He always cheers the loudest, and once in a while even brings a foam finger.

At first, Derek was a little put off by the Stiles loudness, because Stiles isn’t just loud, he’s _loud_. Then he saw Jackson’s embarrassed, but happy, smile every time he looked at his dad in the stands, Derek couldn’t help a smile of his own. Now, he can’t imagine a game without Stiles’ overly loud cheering and attempts to start the wave anymore.

‘Alright, Jackson. You’re up to bat,’ Derek says, directing the boy to the plate.

Right on queue Stiles yells, ‘Go Jackson! That’s my son!’

Derek looks to the stands to see Stiles standing up, both arms in the air. There’s a huge grin on Stiles’ face, making his eyes sparkle bright gold in the summer sun. Stiles must’ve felt his gaze, because he turns his head to look Derek straight in the eye.

Derek’s breath catches in his throat when that wide grin is turned on him. He can’t look away, caught in the beam of Stiles’ radiant smile.

Stiles’ smile falters and his eyes go wide in shock.

‘Derek, look out!’ Stiles yells.

Derek turns to see what Stiles is pointing at, but it’s too late. The bat that must have slipped from Jackson’s hands smashes into the side of his face. He blinks away the tears and the black spots in his vision. _Fuck that hurt._ He moves his hand to probe the spot by his temple where the bat connected, but his hand is pulled down. He looks up, right into Stiles’ concerned face.

‘Are you feeling dizzy?’ Stiles asks, grabbing Derek’s chin, turning his head so he can check the point of impact.

Derek shakes his head. He’s too stunned by the feeling Stiles’ fingers carefully and tenderly touching his face, to formulate a response.

‘Blurred vision? Nausea? Headache?’ Stiles continues.

Derek shakes his head again.

‘Can you move your jaw?’

Derek dutifully open and closes his mouth.

‘Well, aside from a whopper of a bruise, you should be fine,’ Stiles says, his concern turned to relief. ‘I do recommend putting some ice on that.’

‘Coach Derek?’ a small voice says.

Derek turns to find Jackson, head down, baseball cap in his hands, standing behind him. Derek goes to his knees so he look Jackson in the eye.

‘I’m sorry,’ Jackson continues.

Now that he’s at eye-level, Derek can see Jackson’s eyes are shining from tears. He grabs the boy’s shoulder and squeezes lightly in reassurance.

‘I’m fine, buddy. Your dad already cleared me medically.’

Jackson looks up at his dad. Derek can feel the warmth radiating of Stiles’ skin as Stiles crouches beside him.

‘He’s gonna be fine, Jacks. Nothing permanent. Just a bruise,’ Stiles assures him. He rubs a hand through Jackson’s short blond hair.

Jackson huffs irritably, straightens his hair, then puts his cap back on.

‘I’ll make it up to you, Coach Derek,’ the boy nods solemnly, then is off before Derek can tell him he doesn’t need to.

The rest of the game continues without incident. If you don’t include the incident where they won. The parents are trying to figure out carpooling for the celebratory pizza when Jackson comes running up to him, Stiles in tow.

‘I figured out how to make it up to you,’ Jackson says. He’s smiling, in the way that eleven year-olds do when they know something you don’t.

‘Jackson, that really isn’t necessary,’ Derek quickly says. He looks to Stiles for support, but he just shrugs, silently conveying “he’s eleven, he’s stubborn, there’s nothing I can do”.

‘When I get hurt dad always insists on kissing it better. Says his kisses are magical,’ Jackson continues.

Derek flushes, having a horrible feeling of where this is going.

‘So, if my dad’s kisses are as magical as he claims they are, he surely can kiss your pain better as well.’

Jackson is grinning devilishly innocent by the end of his little speech, then looks from his dad to Derek, his eyebrows raised in a challenge.

Stiles shrugs again, this time it’s the shrug of a parent caught in their kid’s scheme. He steps forward, and when Derek doesn’t step back, presses his lips to Derek’s temple.

Derek closes his eyes at the feeling of Stiles’ chest briefly pressing against his shoulder, of Stiles’ soft lips brushing his temple, of Stiles’ hand wrapped around his wrist to steady himself.

When Stiles pulls back, his cheeks are about as red as the jersey he’s wearing.

‘Hmm,’ Jackson hums. ‘I don’t think it worked, because there’s still a bruise. Maybe if you come to dinner and have my dad’s lasagne. That, I _know_ can fix pretty much anything. If not the bruise, then at least dad’s attempts at making poems about your beard.’

Jackson turns, and runs back to his teammates.

‘Did we just—‘ Derek starts.

‘He is grounded _forever_ ,’ Stiles mumbles.

‘Do you really make poems about my beard?’

‘Not just about your beard,’ Stiles says, then claps a hand over his mouth when he realizes what he just said.

Derek chuckles. Turns out he wasn’t the only one staring at something other than the game.

‘So, Sunday okay?’ Derek asks. ‘For dinner?’

‘Sunday works,’ Stiles grins.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://fandom-madnessess.tumblr.com/).


End file.
